Little Pictures
by Penelope Wendy Bing
Summary: Drabbles about life and death in Panem, where both are much more common and meaningful than anywhere else.
1. Children

I tremble slightly. The light from the screen of our cheap television bathes my face. I'm eight, but I feel so old. We all are, every single child in Panem, even in the Capitol. Death is the center of our lives, rooted there by the Games. Whether we love it or hate it, we can't escape it.

The blood pulses out of my sister's body. My mother cries but I cannot. I stroke the hair of my older sister's favorite doll and hum quietly to myself. I no longer want this world. And so my mind leaves it behind. Forever.

**A/N**- I decided to try my hand at drabbles. I find that many people have a hard time writing them well, and I decided to find out if I was one of them. I'll probably post more drabbles as subsequent chapters, but they will be unrelated.


	2. Homecoming

I can't believe he's home! We didn't dare to hope that out of twenty-four children, my cousin would survive.

We surround him in tears and love, laughing and sobbing with euphoria. But he doesn't return our joy. I look into his eyes and I can't breathe. This isn't the boy I grew up with. He died in the arena. And this is what is left.

The Capitol loves him. But he doesn't care about anything. He smiles and fools everyone, but I saw his eyes on that first day. No matter what act he puts on, my cousin's gone.


	3. Lost Love

I trudge for home through the penetrating mist.

My house is shabby, but that's not what's important. It's beautiful because of what's inside. I push the door open and my wife is in her chair by the fire. Her eyes light up.

That's what the Games destroy. Love. Without it, why should we bother living life? But twenty-three families every year lose these moments when you see total acceptance in another's eyes.

I drop my bags and touch my wife's swollen stomach.

"The baby kicked today." She whispers, and bursts into tears. In twelve years, will it be us?


	4. Bread

"I can't. Please, I can't afford that."

I can see what her eyes are saying. She's begging me to give her the bread, or at least take the small amount she can pay me. It's outrageous, that hard-working farmers in District 11 should starve.

If she doesn't get this bread, she may die. Or her children may. But If I give this to her, I take the loss. I barely make ends meet as it is. And my sister...she doesn't. I've been supporting her for years.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I can't help you."

She goes away sad. So do I.


	5. Blue Button, Pink Button

**A/N**- Blue button is for the boy, pink is for the girl.

Pink button or blue button?

If I don't give her this water, she's going to die. But she'll probably die anyway. Her chances of winning are slim to none. He's the better bet for Victor; anyone can see that.

Mentoring is the way the Capitol punishes you even after you win. They make you make choices that just keep killing children. Now I have to choose again. The one who needs it or the one who'll use it better?

Who would want this life more, to make these choices? Which one will survive the nightmares?

I push the blue button.


	6. District 1

**A/N**- This will be the first in a set of short culture studies featuring each of the districts. Also, I'll just update this whenever I feel inspired. I feel _very_ inspired right now, so you can expect a flood of updates for a while.

We owe them, you see. We live the best lives of anyone in the Districts. So we return the favor. We give them Careers and support.

The Districts think we're so brainwashed. We're not. We're just grateful. Last time the Districts weren't grateful, we got the Hunger Games. This won't happen again, not if we have anything to say about it.

Some of us think the way all the others see us as thinking, but some of us understand far better than anyone else. We respect Katniss Everdeen, but she's misguided. She should just bow and accept it. We have.


	7. District 2

The Capitol loves us. But not enough. We're always number 2. It has been that way since the beginning, ever since we were named.

We deserve to be District 1. We are the truly loyal ones. But they always overlook us. They are blinded by our number, our label as second best. _Our_ Careers are the ones who survive to the end, are the ones who truly excel and revel in the Games. We are the ones who truly respect the Capitol.

Now the Capitol will see. We will fight the war against this Everdeen girl. _We_ are truly loyal.


	8. District 3

How can they expect us to bow? We are stuck between the Career Districts, yes. But we are the smart ones. We are the ones who take our passion and spread whispers behind our hands, shielded by the whirring of engines.

Three's a lucky number. So why are so many of our buildings lying in ruins?

Good always triumphs over evil, so why are our people starving in their houses, with no work to pay for their daily bread?

The Mockingjay will triumph, they said. We need her to, now more than ever. We have given her everything we have.


	9. District 4

The waves are a perfect symbol of our lives. We are thrown about, like a boat on the waves. We are tossed into the Games by the Capitol. We swim in those waters by our own choice now. But still we are unsteady as a canoe.

We are not as beloved as District 1.

We are not as brutal as District 2.

We are not poor like the other Districts.

What are we? We are a halfway point. We accept the Capitol's rule, but take no true joy in it.

We are always a lone boat on life's ocean, always.


	10. District 5

Numbers. Always numbers. We perform mathematical research. That is all we will ever be good for.

We know the odds that our children will survive. Technically they are 1 in 24. But they are really much worse than that.

If all tributes were equal, we would have those odds. But life is not that way. Some children are trained, some are naturally brave or cowards. No matter what the Capitol says, they are not numbers.

Can numbers cry when they and their friends are sent to their deaths?

Trust us, we know numbers, and numbers they most certainly are not.


	11. District 6

We are smart, but everyone gives District 3 the credit. Do they design anything? Do they work for generations developing technologies? No. They just put it all together like trained monkeys.

It's no surprise that we've become bitter. I mean, we're the middle children. Everyone forgets us. Maybe that's a good thing. But sometimes it's better to be cared about, whether that means loved or hated.

One of these days, everyone will know of District 6. We've sided with the rebels, and we'll be the deciding asset. We'll build weapons to bring the Capitol to its knees. Just you wait.


	12. District 7

The trees are all around us.

That's fine with us; trees are solid and predictable. They are strong but they can be broken. Just like us.

We are a trustworthy District. If we give you our support, you can be sure to get it. We stayed with the Capitol in the first rebellion, because we were at peace with our problems and poverties. But they betrayed us. They forced us into the Games.

We only wanted what we'd given them: loyalty. We didn't get it, and now we're through with them. We will fight them with every breath. And win.


	13. District 8

We're everywhere. Chances are, the cloth of the clothing you're wearing was produced in our District. And the paper that this is written on.

We tie all others together. We are the underlying backbone of Panem. Without us, everything would screech to a halt. People can only live so long off nature alone. We know how important we are. Our power spreads throughout all Panem. We may not be omnipotent, but we are omnipresent.

This is almost enough for us. We would be happy, if it weren't for the Hunger Games. And now it's almost over. Everything will be perfect.


	14. District 9

We are pure, still independent. It would be so easy to be seduced into the way Careers think. We are the hunters after all. We kill for a living. But we are untouched, as we always have been. It will never change. We are a rock.

We have always been rebelling, by our silence. We have never bowed out heads to accept the Capitol's rules. We have never pleaded for mercy, either. We grit our teeth and do the only thing the Capitol hates more than a rebellion: we live. We flourish and love and never let them rule us.


	15. District 10

They think we're all animals. That we're just animals who look after other animals. They don't give us even the parental condescension with which they grace 1, 2, and 4.

We can't help but hate them. We're people, not just one of their commodities to be killed at a price and shipped to their dinner tables. But they slaughter us every year. Not only us, but all of the Districts. They find us all subhuman.

But they are the unworthy ones, the ones who are stupid and empty. We are the humans. They are the animals. That will never change.


	16. District 11

We starve in droves. It's ironic, isn't it? We're surrounded by food, but we have the highest starvation rate in Panem.

Maybe the Capitol does this on purpose. Working among this forbidden fruit is another way to punish and torture us. It's another of their ingenious ploys.

Nobody realizes, really, how ingenious they are. They have their brute force weapons, like the Hunger Games. But then there are the many cruel undertones that most people never notice. They're so busy roaring about the Capitol's injustices that they never truly appreciate them.

Here we understand more keenly. They're right to hate.


	17. District 12

We're known for blackness. The black of coal, yes. But also the black of our lives.

Things are bad in 12. We have fewer joys even than many poorer Districts. We have no hope. We don't even feel the same camaraderie that most Districts do. Or at least not as strongly.

And then came that girl, Katniss Everdeen. She pulled us out of the dreamless black into which we had sunk. She gave us something to long for. She set on fire the coal that's long lay dormant inside. Even now, as we lay destroyed, we are grateful for this.


	18. Finnick

I remember Finnick. He was my favorite person. So I cling to him, and he clings back harder. I'm his favorite person, I can tell.

But the thing is, when Finnick cries or kisses me, I don't feel the things I used to. I don't feel anything anymore. I think it's part of what's wrong with me. But Annie has her memories, so I hold him and wait for the feelings to come back.

Annie.

I remember her, and I am not Annie. But for now I'll borrow her body and cling to Finnick. Maybe someday Annie will come back.


	19. Business

Everyone knew she beat her to death. That poor little girl, only six years old and murdered by her drunkard mother. But they turned a blind eye; it's none of their business.

He's stepping out on his wife. Their family is falling apart. His wife's sick too. She can't care for all those children on her own. But he leaves her for days on end to be with his mistress. But it's none of their business.

Every year two families mourn. The Capitol takes their children from them. It's horrible injustice. But it's none of their business. Nothing ever is.


	20. Death to Mockingjays

They're killing them by the hundreds, by the thousands. It's ironic that by making mockingjays her symbol, Katniss Everdeen has doomed them.

Of course the Capitol is hunting down those rebellious birds. They can't let those winged symbols of hope fly around unchecked. But they're fighting a losing battle.

The mockingjays are prolific, like the hope they bring. The Capitol is scrambling to rein in the Districts, and they have lost their reason. The things Katniss Everdeen has awakened in their subjects are ineffaceable. Killing these birds is symbolic at best.

The mockingjay population will recover. So will the world.


	21. Thoughts of an Anonymous Capitol Citizen

Those poor kids! They love one another, but they have to kill each other.

Maybe it's wrong. What the government does. Maybe children shouldn't have to kill their friends, family, and lovers.

Maybe this is evil. Maybe it's murder. Maybe the strange feeling in my stomach as I watch the T.V. screen's revulsion.

She leans over him, as he suffers and pants, her hair falling in a curtain as he whispers into her ear.

Have you seen my hair lately? I got every strand dyed a different color.

And just like that, my mind moves on to more important matters.


	22. Silence

There's silence in the orchard now. There's a young boy, who lets out a shout to tell them the day is ending, but it isn't the same.

Her music was a sound of hope, congratulating them on surviving another day. Now they all miss those four notes profoundly.

How could the Capitol have known to take this source of happiness away from them all? Of all the children in District 11, it was Rue. They must have chosen her by hand. There's no way that chance alone could have dealt such a perfect blow.

There's silence in the orchard now.


	23. Scapegoats

"Get away, you dogs!"

Street children are a big problem in our District. They're everywhere. They steal and mug. It's always a relief when one of them is sent into the Games.

How did we come to think this way? The Capitol has done a good job of inundating us with evil and cruelty. When you have so much fear and pain hanging over your head, you need a scapegoat. You can't just go around smiling.

For us, we throw our hate and impotence on the street children. It's almost as bad as the Capitol, but we just can't stop.


	24. Happy Dagger

**A/N**- If you enjoy this, check out my oneshot Fate's Cradle. It has a similar theme, and it's much easier to write a quality story when you don't have to squish it all into exactly one hundred words…

The knife hums happily as its wielder makes it dance and strike. No one can dance without music.

The boy lands a blow, plunging the blade into the younger child's body. The dagger cheers in pleasure and resumes its humming.

The dagger loves being red. It likes the warmth of blood. Death makes the dagger happy. That's what it's made for. How could it feel otherwise? It cannot hate its own very nature. No one can. No one would be able to stand that, hate of one's essence.

So the dagger hums to itself cheerily, the happy instrument of murder.


	25. Parents

No one in the Districts hates their parents. Not the way the teenagers today do. Sometimes, there's a feeling that their parents have failed, but even then, it is not ungratefulness.

But for most children, their parents are a system of support to lean on. Their parents are objects of awe and respect. And then they grow up and realize their parents aren't brave, they just can't escape. And that that requires much more strength.

It's easy to fight for a cause. It's hard to keep living without hope. But you learn to live, and find that it's worth it.


	26. Lovely Doll

I'm their little doll now. I won the Games, and what do I get? I get to smile and bob for a bunch of mindless peacocks.

Papa never said it'd be like this when he made me train. He never told me how I'd be a pretty little shiny thing to captivate these fools. He never told me that my mind would be wasted on these...things.

He lied to me.

He painted me a fantasy. I would be a princess; instead I'm a doll, a curiosity, a plaything.

They have no minds. What's worse, I'm afraid I'm becoming like them.


	27. The One Who Sees

I wish I didn't care. I wish that these children were just objects of entertainment to me they way they are to the rest of the Capitol. But when they bear their souls, they're talking to me.

I meet every year with smiles and an outfit themed around a new color. But even while I question and joke, I'm wondering which one I'll speak with again.

I can hardly watch while my wife squeals, "Ooh, Caesar! Did you _see_ that?"

Yes.

I did.

Unlike every other person in the Capitol, I truly see these children die. Each and every one.


	28. Token

How can you choose just one thing? You're going to your death! How do you decide what you want to have with you when your heart stops beating?

Who do you want to have with you might be a better question. Do you want your mother's locket, your best friend's hair ribbon, your father's watch? How can you choose what will be the best comfort when the life's pouring out of you?

But you need _something_! You can't face it alone. And so you choose, and you hope that when you draw your last breath, you made the right choice.


	29. Statistics

The statistics are hard to swallow. These Games have killed thousands of children. _Thousands._ But nobody knows which thousands.

Everybody forgets the loser. I mean, each child is one in thousands, right? Just one. But each one has parents and friends and...

It goes on forever. Each person may be just one, but each one has many other ones who need it to be there. When you kill one, you damage all of these others. That's one human weakness: we care too much about each other.

But they're only statistics, aren't they? I mean, it couldn't happen to _you_...

Right?


	30. A Mother's Love

This is repulsive to me. And it makes me hate myself.

He's smiling, standing over his kill. He's doing this for me. He's doing this to get back to mama. He hates it, though he struggles through. But I hate what he's doing. He's killed three children. I can't stand to see him a murderer. Guilt washes through me. If he doesn't kill, he'll be killed. How can I want him not to kill?

These strange emotions run through their circles in my head. Do I want my son back, or do I want him to die as my son?


	31. Constancy

No two Hunger Games are ever the same. The people are different; the arenas must be diverse. Two things are constant: the moon and sun.

You learn to hate the sun. It means waking up. It means facing your fatal reality. It means being too warm, sweating when you have no fluid to replace it.

You learn to love the moon. It means the cameras can't see you cry. It means another countdown, telling you that you're that many people closer to home.

Each is important, but not because of what they bring. It's because they are always there. Constants.


	32. Death

Death isn't something that we can touch. It can't hurt us directly. Death is merely an effect of physical harm or expiration. So why do we fear it?

Maybe it's the finality. Once you're dead you're done. There are no take-backs.

Maybe it's the unknown. Maybe there's an afterlife or maybe what awaits us is nothing. There's no way to tell.

Maybe it's a love of what we have. We want the people we love, the life we live; we don't want to give up our earthly things.

For whatever reason, it's in vain. Death can only be avoided so long.


	33. Morality

Morality: mo-ral-i-ty (noun)

1. Accepted moral standards.

2. How right or wrong something is.

3. Virtuous behavior.

4. Moral lesson.

There you have it. Morality in a nutshell. But what _is_ morality, really?

What does it mean to be moral? Is morality killing someone quickly, or allying them and letting them sicken slowly?

Where can we draw the line? If your life's the price, can morality take the backseat?

What's moral? Who decides that something is wrong or right?

Why does it matter? Is it important, or does happiness come first?

I don't have the answers, my friend. Do you?


	34. Teachers

I've heard it said that the best way to learn is through teaching. For me that's not true. For me, it's to watch those I've taught.

Every time I bring a child home, I watch them closely. I learn how they escape, why they made the choices they did. I take from them what I can. I give to them as well, whatever they want.

What I really learn is that I am not alone. That I am not the only one who has nightmares and headaches brought on by guilt. And that maybe I can do some good yet.


	35. Break and Fly

She braids my hair so gently. It's like she's afraid she'll break me. It's like she's afraid she'll spook me and I'll fly away.

We eat breakfast in strict reaping day silence.

We meet the others in Town Square. The mayor gives his tired old speech, followed by our peppy escort.

His hand plunges into the ball.

"Norika Burton."

I'm swept away by the tide of my own name. All my mother's gentleness is for naught.

In the waiting room, we cry and I break inside. Then a peacekeeper drags me toward the train and I'm forced to fly away.


	36. Cake

**A/N**- Too many of these have been sad lately, so I decided it was time for a change. By the way, maybe you should go check out The Truth by LoveTheBoyWithTheBread. The brief mention of cake in the last chapter inspired me to write this.

I've never tasted cake before. My grandmother saved up money to buy cake at my mother's wedding. She did the same for me.

It tastes like perfection. Its consistency is like bread, but without crust. It's sweet like fruit, in a different way.

The wedding guests close their eyes in ecstasy. They have never tasted anything like this either.

My husband puts an arm around my waist. I lean my head against his shoulder, tears creeping from my eyes.

These are the moments I live for. For a minute we all escape. We forget death and Games, and reach joy.


	37. Stress

I can't take this. I put my head on my hands, trying really hard not to cry. Living is destroying me. I just can't take all this death and pain.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and bury my face deeper. I recognize the rhythm of those steps. My older brother.

He sits next to me silently. He knows how hard it is just to wake up in the mornings. To face the nightmare that is life for us. He knows I'm breaking down. Then I can't hold the tears in and he lets me cry. 'Cause he knows.


	38. The Wedding and the Funeral

My daughter, my Katniss, only seventeen years old, stands up on stage in her wedding dress.

_This can't be happening. My baby can't leave._

One way or another my daughter is going away forever. If she marries Peeta, she becomes his wife and leaves me. If she dies in her second Games, the wedding becomes a funeral and she leaves us all. If she is the only one to survive, she will shatter inside and leave us still.

Prim clings to me, as we both savor our last sight of Katniss before she leaves us, one way or the other.


	39. An Awful Waste

I'm a failure. You don't know what it's like. I trained all my life for the Games, and I died in the bloodbath. My whole life was wasted.

It was supposed to be my moment. I was supposed to wear that crown. But Marvel stabbed me in the back. One too many District 1 jokes, I guess. But I was stupid. And I paid.

My parents'll be so disappointed. They'll live in poverty now. I'll be lucky if they don't hate me for letting them down.

I wouldn't blame them if they did. I was a failure, an awful waste.


	40. What They Say

They say time heals. I don't know who "they" are, but they're idiots.

_Nothing_ will ever stop the ache in my chest for my little girl. My arms will never stop reaching out into the darkness for her. Oh, Lyda, why did you have to go?

I hate myself for outliving my little girl. Every night I curse my helplessness. I should have been able to save her, my baby.

I've failed her.

She's gone forever. I will never be able to truly smile again. The tears will never stop falling. And she will never come back. Time heals nothing.


	41. Support

Support's what I need. I can't face this alone. My best friend may die today. If I don't have someone there to catch my mind as I begin to fall it may roll away and I might lose it for good.

He should have this too, my friend who loved people.

The tributes leap forward off their platforms. He lunges for a knife and a packet of freeze-dried vegetables. The Career girl stabs him neatly between his ribs.

Just like that he's gone. No fuss. Someone grips my hand, tears in her eyes. He was alone. That's the worst thing.


	42. Privacy

Tears flow down my cheeks. She's dead.

I need to be alone. I knew this'd happen. When my girlfriend died, I knew she would, I'd need to be alone.

Because my life is going to go on. I have to wake up tomorrow and go to work. I can't stop being strong, even for a moment. Because then life will get me. So if I mourn tonight in privacy I can pretend this never happened, and I can go back to living.

I turn the television off. I don't try to be strong. I break down.

I value my privacy.


	43. Nightmares

Nightmares tell me things. They tell me what I'm fearing and longing for. The other Victors think that I'm mad. Maybe I am. I'm also right. I can clock the healing of my mind by counting the number of times they wake me up every night. I'm down two a night now, instead of seven. At this rate, they'll be gone by the time I'm sixty. Strangely enough, the nightmares are a sign of hope and life's continuation. They may be horrible, but they're a part of me now. And they're welcome. I've learned to find the good in the bad.


	44. Bottles

I stare at the bottle. Bottles're lucky. They don't feel anything. They don't hear the escort's cry of "Haymitch Abernathy" echoing in their eyes. So I envy bottles, who never need to feel.

That's why I turn to bottles and their contents. So I won't need to feel. I'm hoping I'll one day be as hard and empty as a glass bottle.

Or maybe I'll just stop thinking. Katniss and Peeta warn me I'm going to drink myself to death, not realizing how much I'd like that.

I down a bottle and smash it. It's alright. It didn't feel anything.


	45. Cold

I'm just like my arena now. Always cold. Not in the literal sense that that frozen wasteland was, but in my heart and mind.

I never smile at my children, or the wife who I now know married me for my fortune.

I laugh at the cameras, but inside am silent.

I sing, which my talent, but I don't feel the passion behind the words the way I used to. Even District 11's sunlight doesn't warm me. I've slowly but surely given up on warmth. It's gone. I think I want it back, but I'm too scared to find it.


	46. Crime

Any other time, killing is punished harshly. The Capitol doesn't want to lose their slave laborers. But during the Hunger Games, it's required. Why? Why has murder made me a celebrity? I don't understand it at all.

They're cheering for an executioner. They love me for my crimes.

I feel detached, like I'm some disinterested distant watcher observing the antics of these queer little humans. I just want to know why. Why do they respect me for my murders?

Do they love me because I obeyed?

Yes. That must be it. They love my compliance, not my crime.

I hope.


	47. The Artist

They're my canvases. I show my ingenuity, my creativity, on their bodies. I am the best of the best. That's why I'm a designer for District 1.

But they only exist to display my art, and provide entertainment. I am of the Capitol. They are tributes. It is my birthright, and their punishment.

You may hate me. I honestly don't care. My life is all I could ever wish for. It's too bad they don't share that, but they brought it upon themselves.

I trim the dress on the girl's body. Nice and skimpy. A work of art, of course.


	48. Bonds

They hate me. All the people of my District revile me. I killed my District partner. I had to! We were the last two alive.

They would have hated him too, if he'd been the one to survive. They only see the killing, not the pain and fear and longing that hums through the veins of every tribute.

He would forgive me, I know. I'd do the same for him had he triumphed. Because I would truly understand why he did it.

Only tributes can understand tributes. We share a unique camaraderie. Don't try to understand it. You never will.


	49. Hate is Love

I hate Annie. I hate her.

I could have anyone I wanted. All the women throw themselves at me, desperate for my smiles. But there's no one I want to smile at, except her. She sits there, trembling and crazy, and still making me love her.

I will never forgive her for how much she makes me need her. I plead with her. I, Finnick Odair, kneel before someone and beg. But she's like a child. She doesn't understand.

I hate Annie because she's still here.

I hate her because she's gone, somehow.

So why do I still love her?


	50. Memory Token

_Mommy closes the book. _

"_The end. Goodnight Devendrew." She whispers. She stays with me with me until I fall asleep, singing quietly and stroking my hair._

I'll never need a token. What good are material things? They're only a comfort because of the memories that paint them. I have these memories of my mother and her love. And my father and brothers.

I have this love to carry with me. Next to that, a bracelet is nothing. Cold, hard, and metal. Too much of that in the arena already.

So if worst comes to worst, my token will be love.


	51. To Speak

Beetee always understands me, just like Finnick is the only one who knows what Mags is saying.

This sort of thing seems to happen to tributes a lot. We stop being able to communicate. Be it inability to speak or losing the desire to speak, many of us become isolated.

Others of us are lucky. We find someone who is stronger. They become our interpreters.

Some aren't so lucky. Like the morphlings from 6. They don't even have each other. Their only communion is drugs.

But I have Beetee. I hope someday I'll be able to give him something too.


	52. Giving, Part 1

I shouldn't be out here. It's illegal just to leave the District limits. And I'm _hunting_. If I get caught...but I have to, don't I? It's that or starve.

I throw the fish into my bag and head home. An odd style of transport, but I can't let them be seen.

"Please sir. I need food." Rasps the old beggar man. I plan on walking past, but I slow and hand him a fresh fish. He looks at it and something lights in his eyes.

I head home. The best moments are those where you give from your own need.


	53. Giving, Part 2

My four-year-old daughter chats happily as I set the fish down on the table. My hunting's fed us for years. It's easy to forget that in happy moments like this.

A knock sounds at the door. I open it, and before I can talk a gun is pushed into my ribs.

"Serdum Dareas, you're under arrest for poaching." Barks the Peacekeeper.

I'm hustled out the door, my daughter crying behind me. The last thing I see before they put a bag over my head is the old man I fed, counting the money he was paid for turning me in.


	54. How Dare You

How dare you just sit there? How dare you let these things happen to us?

We're children. If our society kills us, innocents, for nothing, then it is inherently flawed. But they force us into the Games, and you do nothing. You let it happen; you watch.

You kill us.

You don't just let things happen; you do them yourselves. Every time you shut someone out, you kill them. Every time you waste your life and don't live it for all it's worth, you kill yourself.

Go. Live and change the world, for us. Don't you _dare_ just sit there.


	55. You Earned This

You earned this. You fought and killed to get it, and you sure aren't going to let it go.

You had earned the right to nightmares after you stabbed that boy in the chest. You certainly earned the right to the hate of your District when you strangled your ally. You earned being reduced to a curiosity in the eyes of the Capitol when you slit that Career's throat. It was a daring move to sneak up on him like that. But you did it.

You earned the right to live in agony. Yes. You have most certainly earned this.


	56. Betrayer or Betrayed

It's just you two now. How could you kill him? How could you not? The Games blur the line. Friend and enemy, winner and loser, life and death. But now you have two, clear, choices.

You can be the betrayer. You can stab him in the back. All you want is love, and he will hate you if you do this, but what good is love to the dead?

You can be betrayed. You can let him wrap his whip around you and strangle you. You can die knowing he was your friend, though you hate him.

Betrayer or betrayed?


	57. Colors

Red. Blood's pooling from her wounds as he stands over her. It's on his knife too.

Black. His vision's fading. Soon it will go dark. Forever.

White. It's so cold. She shivers and folds into herself as the snow flurries around her. It's everywhere.

Green. The jungle's never silent. Even the jewel tones are overwhelming. But green is the one constant. Her head swims with it.

Blue. He sinks slowly below the waves. She sobs. She can't save him as he's swallowed.

Colors. They are a testament; the story's in them. If you look hard enough, you will find it.


	58. I Don't Smile

I watch. But I don't smile.

I can't speak up. I can't say how much I hate seeing them die. Watching the Hunger Games is the way the Capitol knows they're truly in charge.

It's evil. That's the bare truth. But if you say that, if you even turn off the TV, they begin to suspect. If they begin to suspect, they don't need much reason to punish you. And if they punish you for rebellion, you don't survive. Not only that, but they'll hurt your family. Your friends.

I can't hurt the people I love like that. So I watch. But I don't smile.


	59. Decide

You've never done this. How could you? How could you look into someone's eyes and know you were killing them? But this is where you find yourself.

She's pleading with you. Twelve years old. And totally at your mercy.

It's her or you, you understand. If not now, then at some point in time. And if she has to die, why not at your hands? You'll make it fast. You won't torture her like the Careers. You won't wound her and leave her to slowly bleed out.

But how can you kill her? You have no right.

And you decide.

**A/N**- What do _you _decide? Can you give up your life for another's or will you take theirs to protect your own. Because, after all, that's what the Games are all about.


	60. Guide

She's broken. Anyone can see that. It's unfortunate Katniss Everdeen had to fall so far; she could have been a great ally. But she chose to be my enemy, and I cannot allow that.

There is no room for her in my vision, for enemies. Enemies make people ask questions, and when they ask questions, we find ourselves with the Hunger Games. People need to be guided, and I plan to do that. They will not lift their eyes from the path I lay out.

But Katniss does, and her arrow flies through my heart.

She has doomed them all.


	61. Matchmakers and Missed Chances

It suddenly hits him how Mellark might never have had Katniss without his help.

Maybe she'd have starved years ago, unable to provide enough for her family, without his help.

Maybe she'd have been taken down in the forest while hunting one day, if he hadn't been there.

Maybe she'd have disappeared with him into the woods, if he'd pressed just a little harder.

Maybe she'd have chosen him, if it weren't for that fateful bomb.

Looking back on it, Gale has helped Peeta every step of the way. He's practically been the man's matchmaker. And that's what really hurts.


	62. You Can't Sit Here

**A/N**- Even though I've always been a Katta shipper, I felt Gale was not treated well by the events of _Mockingjay_. So I decided to write him finding some way to live with it. Or starting, anyway.

* * *

"You can't sit here forever."

Gale doesn't recognize the girl who sits next to him at the bar. He looks at her sideways.

"Whoever she was, being alone won't bring her back to you." She sticks her hand out. "I'm Ayla. I see you here all the time, alone. You shouldn't be."

He's caught off guard by her forward, funny statements, so he takes her hand. "'She' was the Mockingjay," he says bluntly.

Ayla blinks.

"Still think she's not worth it?" He asks.

She pauses for just a moment, then says, "Yes."

He laughs. "Okay. In that case, wanna drink?"


End file.
